


Revelations Before The Battle

by iia_ao3ac, WCbaH



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But will be resurrected, Dark, Explorations of mistakes and what could go wrong, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some fluff starts in chapter 4-5, The fluff (like everything in that timeline) is dead, There is no fluff in the begiining at all., Time Travel, Very dark in the beginning, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iia_ao3ac/pseuds/iia_ao3ac, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WCbaH/pseuds/WCbaH
Summary: This is now  a multi-chapter, time-travel/vision/fix-it story.  We know there are several time-travel stories that we love already, but this is different: here Dany is as much the main player as is Jon.This story explores the major mistakes, and even (inadvertent) betrayals committed, and their dire consequences.The time-line that needed to be restarted is very dark, and there are multiple flashbacks to it. The first few chapters are especially dark. There is no fluff in them, the fluff is dead, like everybody else in that timeline. Hopefully, it will be resurrected as well.The first chapter is what was once a one-shot of Bran revealing the truth about Jon's parentage and Viserion to Jon and Dany immediately upon them arriving in Winterfell.  Dany is contemplating Bran's revelations and what they mean, thinking on the past, and her feelings, and preparing mentally for battle.The second chapter is Dany waking up in the Dothraki sea once more.The third chapter is mostly Jon's POV. Warning: flashback, and thus very dark themes, not for the fainthearted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is our first ever non-science writing of anything. 
> 
> If it is bad, forgive us. We will try and do better. All comments and suggestions appreciated, because we are trying to learn.

She was still numb. She couldn't even cry, all her tears felt burned out of her.

Bran had told them these truths with all the indifference of one who was above such petty concerns as crushed hopes or deathly nightmares. Not that she expected any concern for her, the daughter of the Mad King who had killed their grandfather and uncle. Her child, her dragon, was now in the hands of the Night King to be used against them all, Bran had said.

There had been a small hope in her heart that Viserion had sunk too deep. Jon had said that the wights couldn’t swim, and she had been hoping against hope that her child’s death wouldn’t be turned into an undead nightmare. She had seen his blue eyes in her dreams, but still she had hoped in her heart they were just ordinary dreams, just a nightmare.

To hope that your child was dead was not a hope she wished on anyone.

And now even that hope was gone.

She would now have to kill the husk of her own child as she had to kill Drogo.

A dragon is not a slave, but who but another dragon would have any concern that they needed to be free. They were just a threat or a weapon to be used, to anyone but her. No, she didn’t expect any concern for the Mother of Dragons, nor for her children.

She reached at her two remaining sons, who were coiled around her now. They would have to kill their brother. The cries of Rhaegal when Viserion was hit still echoed in her nightmares. And now he will have to face his brother again, in his death.

Was it her fault? If she had not gone beyond the Wall Viserion would not have died. But she had not understood the power of the Night King. For who could kill a dragon, she had thought, except another dragon. She had seen that Drogon had not been deadly hurt even by the abomination that the Lannisters had constructed to use against him.

But she had condemned Viserion and Rhaegal under the pyramid because she was afraid of what they were, and what they could become. She was afraid of who she was herself. She was as guilty as her ancestors who locked their dragons in the Drahonpit. Perhaps if she had not locked them, buried them under the Harpy’s pyramid, Viserion would have been stronger, and would not have died.

And now the only thing she can do for him was to free him to die his true death. It was her fault. Her son. Viserion had had so little time to fly free, to grow, to enjoy his birthright in the sky. Her fault. What kind of a mother was she, who kept paying with her children’s lives for her mistakes. No, she did not deserve any concern for her, not from Bran or anybody.

 

But Jon, Jon was different, he only ever risked himself, Jon did not deserve this. And Jon was Bran’s blood, his brother in truth if not, as it turned out, in actual birth. Bran’s second revelation was like a death blow to Jon, as the first was to her, it was clear to all. Bran had told them of Rhaegar and Lyanna, how they married and who Jon was. No flicker of emotion passed the seer's face. Perhaps if one could see all of the past, any emotion had to die- how else not to choke on all the blood and misery.

 

“Why tell me this now”, Jon had asked. “You have to know who you are, you have a role to play”, Bran had said, and Jon had turned then and walked out of the room. The revelations had made her numb, and she was unable to even move at first, to go to him.

Would Jon even want her concern now? Who was she to him now? Would he turn from her and feel shame for what they were to each other? Would he feel shame for what he was, and what she now reminded him of?

Bran then had turned to her, his face still and dead. His ancient eyes saw through her. “You both have a role to play”. The blankness of his tone had hit her anew. She had seen magic before, and she remembered Mirri Maz Duur, her cruel smile, her eyes black as night. But the eyes of this boy before her were older and colder. No, there was no doubt that it was not a mere boy that sat before her, and there was no doubt his words were true.

When she had walked out after, she went the only way she could find on her own in this unfamiliar place, following the bond with her children. Everybody but her guards gave her a wide berth in the courtyard, as if she had mounted the “pale mare”. When she approached the nest her children had made for themselves in the woods outside the castle, even her guards fell off.

And she was alone with her children, the children she had failed. The last dragons, but one. Jon was a dragon too, the son of Rhaegar, the brother she never knew, but always held dear in her heart, the brother who would have never hurt her if he lived. The brother who wold have loved her. Her family… How would Jon feel, now that he knew he was the son of Rhaegar?

She cast her mind over their conversations with Jon, but Rhaegar was a topic they would avoid. Robert’s rebellion and the Usurper ascension to the throne with the help of Ned Stark brought her own family to its final downfall. Though that had began earlier, she now knew the truth. While Viserys blamed Lyanna, or even herself for not being born earlier, the whole North blamed Rhaegar and named him an abductor and a rapist. Once she had said that Rhaegar had loved his Lady Lyanna, but Jon had replied “Even if he did love her, how many died for him taking a woman betrothed to someone else?” There was nothing she could say, as the thought of Rhaegar was too dear to her, Rhaegar being the one bright light to cling to among all she had come to know of her family’s misery and darkness. The last dragon…

But Rhaegar had not been the last, she had become the Mother of dragons and a dragon herself. And now Jon was revealed to be the blood of the dragon as well. Would he accept it, or would he turn in disgust at being the son of a man he had been raised to despise, and the grandson to the Mad King besides?

Bran had told them that Rhaegar had married Lyanna, and Lyanna had loved Rhaegar, as he her. At least Jon had the small piece of mind that though he was Rhaegar’s son, he was not born of rape. She knew how painful it was to know her mother died to bring her to this world, but it had been far was worse to learn about her mother’s cries at being raped by her mad father.

The Mad King earned his name, and she was his daughter. She could never escape it, she knew how everybody from the kIngdoms looked at her, even those closest to her like Tyrion.

Would Jon now have to face the same weight of the Targaryen name? Unlike her, he had other family, a family that loved him. Would he choose his other family and try to forget who he was? She knew he needed time to understand what it all meant. In time he would learn to accept that there was greatness in their Targaryen blood as well as madness.

But did they have time? She knew the battle was coming as soon as the next day. They had ridden with all haste to get to Winterfell, as they knew the Night King moved an army that didn’t need rest. They heard alarming reports on the way, which only spurred them on, to make it to Winterfell, to Jon's family, before the Night King. And it seemed they made it in the nick of time. Her armies were still arriving, the vast number of people stretching long past on the road.

She had spent her nights on the road with Jon. After that first night on the boat to White Harbor she knew who he was, who he had been all along—her shadow lover, that she thought was a dream, but could not give up hoping to be real. And she knew then in her heart and soul that she was his from that time till the end of her life.

Even though their alliance only made sense and though he had proclaimed her his Queen, she didn’t want to be the one asking for marriage. Dany remembered Hizdarh, and his submission to her marriage proposal as his Queen. It had made her feel both  a slave and a slave master.

This time she didn’t want to be the one asking, even if politically they were the best suit for each other. She couldn't. Jon had accepted her as his Queen, but it was not as Queen that she wanted to marry him. And she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, she wanted Jon to choose her as his wife, to commit the rest of their lives together.

She remembered the word Ser Barristan had used about Elia, saying that Rhaegar was fond of her. She had accepted that as her lot with Hizdahr of the tepid kisses. She could not accept that now, not with Jon. She wanted him to love her as she loved him, as Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna. As wrong or as right as it had been, even as everything fell around them.

Rhaegar, his father. What would Jon think, what would he do now?

She knew that as much as a fire singing in your blood and the need and longing in your heart, love was a choice, a leap of faith.

She had chosen to love Drogo when her choice had been to despair and die, or to live and love him, as much as she could. Drogo too had come to love her in his own way, and he had made her a Khaleesi, but could he accept who she truly was? Daario had loved the Dragon Queen, not Dany, she knew it well. She too had thought she loved him, before she understood that he would never accept who she was, not even understand it. There were many measures of love, she knew now.

She had felt the fire in her blood with Jon, but even then she wanted him to choose to love her, as equals. As she had chosen to love him, as equals. Not his Queen. When he had come to her on the ship, she knew then that he could love her, Dany, the woman. She had felt his fire too, and though she didn’t understand it then, her heart had sung in answer.

Who could truly love a dragon the way a dragon loves another? All consuming, a dragon fire. A horizon which can be reached on dragon wings. Now she knew it was possible.

But love was a choice as well, and nobody else can make it but yourself. Would Jon choose her now, when he knew?

Would he come to accept who he is?

Dany wished it was easier, to accept the weight that came with knowing who he was. It hadn’t been easy for her, it would never be easy. All her life she had lived with the duty that came with who she was—one of the last Targaryens, the last ones to carry their family legacy.

Viserys was all she had when she was growing up. He had been the rightful King, even if he was too weak to claim the throne for himself. She remembered the longing in her brother’s voice when he told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, their lost home. He had sold her to get an army to go back, and still there was love in her for him. At the end he became the brother who was not her brother, and Drogo had crowned him in molten gold, as she watched.

Was that how Rhaegar had felt about her father? She now knew what her father was, the way Viserys hadn’t known. If Viserys had patience, mayhaps he would have been here now, claiming his throne. What would she have done, where would she had been? Could she have supported Viserys knowing what he was, “less than a shadow of a snake”, but still her brother, and the rightful King? Would she had had to face the same choice as Rhaegar did: to submit to the laws of the Crown, or to depose his own father, the Mad King? Her father, too. Would she have lived like her mother, always in fear of waking the dragon? But Viserys was dead, and she was all that remained.

If I look back I am lost. But she remembered still. She closed her eyes and could see again the dream that had started it all

_Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. “Faster,” they cried, “faster, faster.” She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. “Faster!” the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew. The last dragon._

 

But she was wrong, she was not the last dragon, there was one more beside her now. Their ancestors now looked at them both from the ages. Would Jon accept it? “You are the heir to the Iron Throne”, Bran had said.

She noticed how Jon’s sister, Lady Sansa, had looked at her then. What did she think of her, the foreign invader, the Mad King daughter, come to take her father’s throne with fire and blood? Is that what she was? Was Lady Sansa afraid that she may harm Jon now that she knew his claim?

She wanted to laugh, but it would be a cry. Jon was her family now, her only family. He may have other family, but she did not. All her life she had wanted a family, a home, she would have done anything for it. She did give everything she had for it, until there was nothing more to give, and she was alone again.

For so long she was alone. How much more would she pay for her long lost blood, for Jon. Anything, everything.

And Jon would be a worthy King, unlike Viserys. Jon was strong and merciful where Viserys had been weak and cruel. Jon was the King the people of the North chose. He had become a King out of necessity, as she had become a Queen.

She knew why Lady Sansa looked at her in suspicion, the Dance of Dragons her ancestors had waged against each other was reason enough to be suspicious. But then none of them had lived with the burden of knowing you are the last. The last of your family, the last of the dragon blood.

No, she would never, she could never go against Jon, she would give up the throne to him if he wanted it. Even if she did not love him, she could never go against him, he was the last hope for a future.

The Iron Throne had been what she fought for so many years, her dream and her duty both. Her dream because she hoped it would be the home she longed for so long. The place where she would be accepted, she would belong.

But her duty more, because it was her birthright, and there was nobody else left. It had fallen all on her. Even when she knew she would be the last, it was still her duty to reclaim it for the legacy of her ancestors.

But she was not the last Targaryen now, there was another. Jon, Aegon. She did not doubt what Bran had told them, she had felt it to be true in her blood.

Hope. Jon was hope, where there was no hope for the future before.

Jon was her blood, the blood of the dragon. Even as he was a wolf, Jon was a dragon too, as Viserys hadn’t been, she knew it in her heart.

As she was a dragon, and as his father before him. The last dragon, they often said of Rhaegar. But he hadn’t been the last, and now she will not have to be the last either.

There was hope now that the dragons will not leave the world forever. Her sons would live, and Jon would live. Jon would take care of them if she was gone, she knew even Drogon accepted him. There was hope now for them all.

She would give all in her power to keep them alive. Anything. Everything.

She knew what they faced. She knew the chances of both of them surviving were slim.

But a dragon was safer with a rider, and she will keep Rhaegal away from the Night King this time. She will face her child's killer  alone with Drogon, who had most experience in battle and was also the largest and his scales were toughest. She knew Rhaegal would be safer away from the Night King, and he would also protect Jon.

And perhaps she knew what Bran had meant, the prophecy and legend of the hero and his wife Nissa Nissa. Dany had long past stopped putting stock in prophecies and Gods. Prophecies were always twisted and rarely meant want one thought or hoped they meant. She had prayed to the Gods once to save her Khal, but they did not, even though she paid and paid and paid. Perhaps the Gods listened, but they did not hear, or they did not care.

It did not matter, because it was her choice and at the same time not a choice at all.

The selfish part in her wished and longed that she could spend her last hours before the battle with Jon. Talk to him, comfort him, tell him what she knew of Rhaegar, and what she believed of him. Spend time with him and her children, together, see them come to know each other. She now knew her children had recognized the dragon in Jon, but she would have so wanted to see Jon get to know them as well.

There was so little time remaining to them. She longed to tell him that she loved him one last time, no matter who his father was. He was Jon. That she chose him and always will. Make love to him one last time and look into his eyes and lose herself in them. Feel loved.

But that was not her choice to make. It was Jon's. Love could not be forced, nor wished.  No matter how fervently one longed,  or prayed, or begged, love can only come willingly. It was Jon's choice to give or to withhold.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps the clean cut was better. Maybe she would be too weak to go to battle afterwards if she spent her last night with him. Maybe an open heart was a weaker heart and treacherous in battle.

She did not know, and it was too late for her anyway. She had already chosen Jon and her love for him was not something she could go back on now, even if she wished to. Not any more than she could choose not to be Dany.

She had prepared to die many times before. She would do it gladly this time if it meant Jon and her children would live. This time she would protect him with her life if need be. If there would be only one of them returning from this battle alive, it would be him.

She was a dragon, and a dragon did not back from a fight, the dragons protected their own.

That was her choice.


	2. is this a dream, or is it a memory?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany wakes up in the Dothraki sea. With the dream of having died, by the hand of her love. A dream, or a memory...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the idea of iia_ao3ac we decided to turn this into a multi-chapter story. This also changed the type of story that it is going to be: it is now a time-travel/vision/fix-it story. Key players, mainly Dany and Jon, wake up not where they expected to be, and are trying to understand what happened to them, and why are they where they are. And most importantly, is there anywhere to go from there...

_Jon's eyes turned from determination, to recognition, to horror, as he wrenched the sword from her chest. She was falling, trying to reach for him one last time, as the darkness was taking her._

'It was my choice, forgive me, so that you can live... I love you'

 _She couldn't see his eyes anymore. And then there_ _was nothing._

 

Dany woke up from the pain.  She couldn't understand where she was, her head felt as if it was full of swirling mist. She was lying on the hard ground, on a patch of grass. When she looked around she could see in the dim light of a morning that  there were people already moving around. She could hear the horses, and the people speaking.  In Dothraki. She sat up slowly and looked at herself, she was dressed in a tattered dress above her usual britches. Her Queen of Mereen dress, which was no longer white.

Her dream had been so vivid. She was falling in the snow, no sounds able to reach her anymore, the only real thing remaining was  his face, Jon's face, and that too had  faded to the darkness. The last thing she ever saw were his eyes, as had been her wish. Was that a dream?  Or was this the dream?

But there would be no pain in a dream, would it? Her whole body was hurting.

One of the women around her came and told her, in Dothraki, that they will be moving soon. If this was not a dream, then she knew where she was. She was once again in the Dothraki sea, traveling towards the Dosh Khalleen. A slave once more.

The Dosh Khlaleen, whose temple she burned. Did she? The memory was so vivid, the threats of the Khals, their scramble to get out, the screams they could not hold back.  The fire surrounding her, caressing her like a lover. Like Jon. Was that real, or was he a dream? If it was a dream, then it was a good dream.

Dany had to move though, no matter how the thoughts were swirling in her head. She followed the woman to the slow moving small river that flowed nearby, to have a drink of water and even  wash a bit,  as much as she could.  Her back was hurting, from the ground perhaps, and  from the whips of her captors. Her feet still hurt, the hurt dull but there,  despite that she had just woken up. From the walking? 

She knew where she was, who she was, her body knew it. Though it seemed like a memory, a distant memory to her, like it had already happened before. How could it have already happened? 

Another woman gave her a bit of dried horse meat to eat, as the khalasar started moving out. Exhausting for the body that it was,  walking among the khalasar in the relentless procession towards her fate would give her time to think. To try to understand what had happened, what was a dream, and what was reality, what was a memory and what was a vision.

The sun was so bright in her eyes, it was blinding her, even though from its position on the horizon it was still early. It felt so different from what  was her last _memory of it.  The light subdued, even in the middle of day. The memory of snow, and of cold. Of despair and of death._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know there are several time-travel Jonerys stories around. This one is different, because it is usually only (or mostly) Jon who has gone back in time. In this one Dany is as much the main player as Jon. 
> 
> We accept ideas and writing help. Neither of us has any skill at writing anything to do with feelings. Also, for neither of us is English the first language, so apologies for the grammar mistakes, and the wrong expressions, in advance. 
> 
> We are sorry if this is not good. We nevertheless hope you like it, or at least the idea. We accept ideas, and if anybody of the many good writers wants to take up this idea (and much more), we would be grateful.
> 
> Let us know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two parts to this chapter: Jon's POV and Bran's POV. 
> 
> Jon's POV is a flashback to the previous time-line before restart. A warning: can be traumatic, and is probably not for the fainthearted. 
> 
> The second part is the background of the time-line change, Bran's POV.
> 
> There is no fluff in this chapter, the fluff is dead like most everybody in that time-line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: pretty dark themes explored here in this chapter. This story is going to be on the darker side in the beginning. This is also the last chapter before we add a new co-author, hopefully, who can actually write: InkFire_Scribe.
> 
> We, hopefully, will add InkFire_Scribe starting next chapter. I personally don't want anybody else but me (iia_ao3ac) to take the blame for this chapter.

 

 

Jon

 

 

_There was almost no resistance as he pulled the sword free, the Valyrian steel slicing through flesh and bone almost as if it was silk._

_He looked into her eyes. And there was no red there. They were Dany’s eyes, two shining pools of violet light, so clear he could read her soul through them. Love. Regret. Loss. Love. Their light already receding, as if dimmed from within. Her face became rounder and softened, the lips bowed and full and sweet, Dany’s lips that he would recognize anywhere;  a trickle of blood bubbling and running off the corner of her mouth. Her small hand lifted, as if to touch him, to hold on, but it couldn’t reach before it fell back._

_"It was my choice, forgive me, so that you can live..." Her breath whistled softly as it came.  "I love you…"_

_She swayed to the side then and crumpled to the frozen ground, her hair spilling on the hard snow. Silver streaks radiated through the red strands of her hair, as if ice was burning through the dark red, until it rippled once more as bright as moonlight. He watched frozen as the blood inched spreading on the frosted ground, its red shining tendrils reaching toward him._

_No! This couldn’t be true, couldn’t be true! His eyes were deceiving him, the Others were making him see things that were false! Or the red witch herself to torment him ..._

_He dropped his sword as if it burned, and perhaps it did, and he fell to his knees on the frozen ground. He was afraid to touch her, her life’s blood was spreading so rapidly. Her head was half turned, her moonlight hair covering the side of her face, so he gently reached and pushed it off. It was her face, Dany’s face…Why her? Why, Gods? Her eyes did not see him anymore. No, please, that couldn’t be!_

_He reached again and touched her face. It was as if somebody else looked through his eyes and saw his gloved hand touching her perfect face. No, his gloves, he needed to remove his gloves, that’s why he couldn’t feel her heat! There, she was sleeping! He gently cupped her face, his fingers caressing the soft shell of her ear, burying in her silky hair, there, she is sleeping now…His thumb kept tracing her brow, her cheek, so soft -- she was so peaceful… He will rock her gently in her sleep... There... She was just dreaming…_

_He was startled by slow shuffling footsteps that echoed in the silence. He looked up from Dany’s face and saw the old bent crone that had accompanied the Red Witch before. Was she her servant, another red witch?_

_"We must return her to the fire, so she may feed the fire of the Lord", the old woman said, her voice flavored with a faint far away accent. Melisandre’s voice._

_"Who are you?" he asked._

_"I am a servant of the Lord, Jon Snow."_

_Her voice distorted then to a strange echo as she whispered words in a tongue he didn’t understand. In front of his eyes her body straightened and elongated, the wobbly chin, the sallow yellowed flesh all melted, and her skin was smooth and white again, unblemished. Burned copper crept fingers out from the white wisps of her hair.    The ruby choker around her throat pulsed and her eyes gleamed bloody red as she looked at him from above._

_"You did this…Why?" Jon’s voice was like to choke him.  "Did you trick her as well?"_

_"It was her choice, she told you true. One of you had to die, and one of you had to live. The Light of the Lord was fading, and we need great power to fight the Long Night. There is great power in King’s blood, and there was no one else.  There was no other way. "_

_"Like you burned Princess Shireen? What power did it bring?"_

_" Stannis was not the Chosen One, and the Princess’ blood did not have enough power in it. The Great Darkness requires a great sacrifice to fight it. I only do what my Lord commands and gives me the power to do."   Melisandre’s voice was calm, there was no triumph and no hesitation in it._

_"You serve a monstrous God of Lies then. The Darkness that you claim to fight is less cruel."_

_"All Gods are cruel, Jon Snow. Or do you think your false Gods living in your heart trees are not?”   Her eyes shone dark red like the blood below him. “Blood feeds your tree Gods just as fire feeds our Lord of Light. "_

_There was no mercy in her eyes, no regret._

_"Only death can pay for life. She knew this. She was the blood of the dragon, fire made flesh, fire was in her blood. Only fire can kindle fire. There was nothing else  left for her. She chose."_

_Her words were like a knife in the heart._

_"What did I choose? Did I have a choice?"_

_"You are the sword in the darkness, Jon Snow. The Lord chose you. You are Azor Ahai reborn, the weapon of R'hllor to fight the Long Night. "  
_

_He wanted to choke the words out of her, he would put his hands around her throat and squeeze until the life left her eyes. Like it left Dany’s eyes._

_A movement in the trees caught the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. The cold crept like the tendrils of mist stretching towards them, despite the fires burning at his back.  There was a faint crackle and he saw the ice forming in the pool of blood at his knees._

_Jon stood up as a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, tall and gaunt, with pale flesh shimmering like moonlight. The figure moved forward on silent feet, unhurried, the fire casting ghost-light patterns on the faint blue glimmer of his armor. He stopped when he reached the edge of the trees, his burning blue eyes fixed on Jon._

_And then the Other said something in a language Jon hadn’t heard before, his voice like the cracking and screeching of ice on a winter lake. Jon didn’t know the words, but he understood it all the same:_

 

_You are me, now._

 

 

With great shuddering pain Jon’s heart beat again.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The last greenseer

 

 

"Enough. If you stay too long you will be lost."

 Jon and the Red Woman and the Other were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of the weirwood coiling around them like giant white worms.

 Bran’s throat was dry. “I don’t understand.  This was not the past. Is this the future?”

 “What you saw hasn’t come to pass yet, and still it may not be the future either. The future is not set. We cannot change what is already in the past, we can learn from it, but cannot change it. The ink is dry. But the future changes, we can follow many possible paths, many forks in the river of time ahead of us. You can travel a fork to see where it leads, but you have to be careful lest you get trapped in its flow and stay there forever.”

  “Can what I saw be changed then?” Bran needed to know.  Jon was Bran’s brother.

  “Some things can be changed, and some cannot. No single person can change the course of the entire river.  And yet each single person can affect the fate of many, some in smaller ways, and others can change entire Kingdoms, for better or for worse. Many people strive to impose their will upon the future, and sometimes they succeed. Though they may end up wishing that they haven’t.”

 Bran wanted to ask if Lord Brynden had tried changing the fates of the ghosts he spoke of—the woman he wanted for himself and the brother he loved. He knew that he would not get an answer. But there must be a reason why Bran saw what he saw. 

  “How can you affect the future then, make it go a different path?”

  “It is dangerous to try, there are currents and whirlpools in the river of time. Many seek glimpses into the future. Green visions, dragon dreams, prophecies and shapes in the fire-- there is no telling at the start whether they would poison one’s mind, or save it. Only a very strong mind can withstand the power of more than a glimpse, even in a dream.  Often those who were given a peek will try to escape what they saw, only to bring it forth themselves.   And sometimes others may want to run toward it. Only to fall into a trap. This is why you have to learn. You are not prepared. And our time together may be running out.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hopefully with the addition of InkFire_Scribe next chapter, the writing will be better (at least those parts), it will be less dark, and there will/should be a lighter moment or two.
> 
> Comments and blame for this chapter should be addressed to iia_ao3ac.


End file.
